Beguiled
by LadyBush
Summary: Post OotP and Voldermort's defeat, this is a light hearted and very sweet Dumbledore/McGonagall fic. Dumbledore is spending his Christmas in a log cabin in Norway and invites McGonagall to join him. But will romance develop?
1. Once upon a time

**Beguiled **

Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. 

Authors Note: Set post-OotP and post-Voldermort's defeat. McGonagall (about sixty years old) and Dumbledore (ageless) have been in love for many months but neither has told the other. Dumbledore is preparing to retire as headmaster of Hogwarts and is renting a muggle log cabin in Norway for Christmas, to decide if he should buy it or not. 

#~**~#

Dumbledore sat at a writing desk with his back towards a roaring fire. Despite the warmth from the fire, he was wearing a scarf, woolly hat and several pairs of his beloved socks. Outside the window, the snow fell in a thick luxurious carpet but this, of course, was the sort of weather one expects on Christmas holiday in Norway.

Dumbledore put his quill to parchment then paused thoughtfully. How should he begin his letter?

          _Dear McGonagall,_

No, that wasn't right at all. Dumbledore cursed himself for being an idiot. If he wanted McGonagall to notice him, then a good start would be calling her by her Christian name. Dumbledore tossed the piece of parchment he had just written on into the grate and idly watched as the flames devoured it. Then he started again-

          _Dear Minerva,_

No, that wasn't right either. 'Dear Minerva' didn't convey enough affection. Dumbledore tossed the second piece of paper onto the fire and put his quill to the third piece.

_My Dearest Minerva,_

"Perfect!" exclaimed Dumbledore, setting his quill down and deciding that it was time for a tea break.

#~**~#

          Minerva McGonagall was curled up on her bed wearing tartan pyjamas and huge woollen bed socks, reading a battered copy of '_Macbeth_' aloud and drinking a bottle of firewhisky.  

_"Was the hope drunk,   
Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since,   
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale   
At what it did so freely? From this time   
Such I account thy love," _she read aloud then stopped to think.

McGonagall always stopped to think when she saw the word 'love'. It seemed to her to be such a small word for all the meaning it held.

"How I love you, dearest Albus," she whispered.

 #~**~#

_My Dearest Minerva,_

_                             I know that you will probably have had a thousand better offers but I hope you will consider mine: will you come and spend Christmas with me here in Norway? I have a fine log cabin with two bedrooms and the scenery is splendid but I think it should be even more perfect with you by my side. Please reply as soon as you receive this letter._

_                                                                   Forever yours,_

_                                                                                      Albus Dumbledore._

_P.S. My wand has broken in half. Please could you enclose some spell-o-tape in your reply?_

          Dumbledore set his quill down and admired his handiwork. It had only taken him four hours of deep thought and seventeen pieces of fresh parchment to write this letter, so naturally Dumbledore was feeling extremely proud.

          A tawny owl swooped down through the chimney and gave a squawk as it encountered the flames at the bottom. "Stupid owl," murmured Dumbledore rescuing it from the flames and throwing it out of the window where it promptly extinguished itself in the snow.

          When the owl was suitably recovered from its ordeal Dumbledore tied his letter to it and gave it instructions to deliver the letter the following morning to Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

          "I hope you find my love well," said Dumbledore after the departing owl.

          #~**~#       #~**~#

          McGonagall, still dressed in her tartan pyjamas, sat down to breakfast. She immediately recognised the tawny owl that swept down the chimney and landed in an unfortunate heap on the floor.

"Oh, Albus!" she exclaimed, coaxing the owl towards her with a cornflake and then relieving it of its letter.

          Indeed, McGonagall was so wrapped up in her letter-reading that she did not notice when the owl, neglecting to fly, hopped off in the direction of her bedroom and proceeded to bury itself in her bedcovers. Further proof of McGonagall enjoying her letter was that she poured her cornflakes into her teacup, her milk into the vase of flowers on the tabletop and her tea into her cereal bowl. 

          "Oh, Albus! Nothing could please me more that Christmas with you!" she cried and wrote three sentences at the bottom of the letter: _I accept your invitation with pleasure. Will have to buy spell-o-tape and then bring it with me. Expect my arrival tomorrow evening. _ "Now where is that damned owl?" she cursed

          #~**~#

          Dumbledore stood by the stove, his left hand stirring a cauldron full of murky brown liquid and his right clutching an old muggle book entitled '_Mrs Beeton's Traditional English Recipes_'. Dumbledore was attempting to make lamb and vegetable stew but had, of course, never tried cooking the muggle way and was amazed at how difficult it could be. A sudden tap at the kitchen window distracted him form his task. 

          Dumbledore opened the window to let in his rather disgruntled owl. "She's coming!" he cried after reading the owl's letter. "Tomorrow!"

          #~**~#       #~**~#

          McGonagall took a last look around her rooms to check that she had not forgotten anything. Then closing her eyes and concentrating she disappeared into thin air.

          When McGonagall opened her eyes and gazed around she found herself in the middle of a blizzard on a white hillside. Peering through the driving snow she managed to see a bright light in the distance and stumbling dreadfully she made her way towards it. "Albus? Dumbledore?" she shouted, hammering on the door of the small log cabin.

          "What on earth are you doing out there?" asked Dumbledore as he opened the door, dragged her inside and set her before a blazing fire. 

          "It's a long way to disapparate from Hogwarts. I must have been a couple of hundred metres off my target," said McGonagall happily. Then she looked at Dumbledore who stared back at her.

          "I've really missed-" began McGonagall.

          "I've been looking forward-" started Dumbledore at the same time. Then McGonagall threw herself into his arms and the world seemed perfect. 

"Have you brought my spell-o-tape?" asked Dumbledore still hugging the Scottish woman, with an insane grin plastered across his old face.

"Oh God! I knew there was something I'd forgotten!" cried McGonagall.

Not quite perfect.

#~**~#

Please review… Next chapter soon.

 


	2. there were two wizards

Big thanks to Captain Amelia, Laura Kay, ScullyCat Marie, The Silver Witch, Jestana, Child-of-the-Dawn, Mini_Minerva, Altra Palantir, CEA, PrincessWitch, Demus and petriebird18. Reviews do make a writers day- in other words: keep it up! Hope you enjoy part 2, I would expect the concluding part in the next few days.

#~**~#

"I'm sorry, Albus," said McGonagall gently, as the two teachers sat down in chairs in front of the fire. "I'll go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and get you some spell-o-tape."  
  


"That's alright. I'll go myself," said Albus, smiling. 

"You don't have a wand."  
  


"Hand me yours."

McGonagall shook her head but handed the wand over anyway. "You know other people's wands don't work unless they're very compatible with you," she said. Dumbledore just smiled broadly.

He took off the scarf he was wearing, tapped it with McGonagall's wand, muttered something and then handed her a bunch of roses where the scarf had been.

"Fabulous!" cried McGonagall, looking extremely chuffed.

"And now," said Dumbledore, bowing down to McGonagall, "I shall bid you goodnight." And he swept out of the room looking most dashing.

#~**~#

Dumbledore couldn't sleep. Perhaps it was the presence of McGonagall in the next bedroom, or perhaps he was just suffering from insomnia. At any rate, Dumbledore could not bear to stay in bed any longer, tossing and turning every few minutes and so decided to go downstairs and get a cup of cocoa. 

Dumbledore put on his dressing gown and crept down the narrow staircase, feeling his way along in the pitch darkness. Then he gently opened the door into the kitchen, cringing as its hinges creaked. 

          "Albus!"

          "Minerva!"

          "I didn't think you'd be awake," stammered McGonagall, trying not to blush on account of her tartan pyjamas.

          "What are you doing?" asked Dumbledore, silently cursing the relative who had sent him a pink dressing gown last Christmas. 

          "I was a little hungry," explained McGonagall. Now that his attention had been drawn towards it, Dumbledore noticed the strong aroma of frying bacon.

          "Would you like some bacon?" asked McGonagall tentatively.

          "Yes! Very much!" exclaimed Dumbledore, all thoughts of a cup of cocoa having vanished from his head. He sat down at the table.

          Ten minutes later, McGonagall presented Dumbledore with a bacon sandwich. Dumbledore would forever remember this sandwich as the _perfect_ bacon sandwich. "You're an excellent cook," he said but McGonagall, who had merely used a simple cooking spell, laughed this away.

          "I'll say goodnight… again…" said Dumbledore swallowing the last mouthful of sandwich, rising from his chair and walking to the door.

          "Albus!"

          "Yes?" said Dumbledore turning around.

          McGonagall smiled sweetly. "Nice dressing gown. Pink is very becoming on you," she said.

          "Thank you. In turn I must admire your charming tartan pyjamas," replied Dumbledore, leaving McGonagall blushing scarlet.

          #~**~#

          "Good morning!" cried Dumbledore, as McGonagall entered the sitting room at 10 O'clock precisely. 

          "Good morning," replied McGonagall. "And happy Christmas Eve-Eve." 

          "Is it the 23rd already?" said Dumbledore looking surprised. "With your leave, I would like to take your wand and do some shopping in Diagon Alley." While Dumbledore was quite capable of disapparating to London without a wand, it was not yet safe to travel around wizard communities in case one was attacked by one of the renegade Death-Eaters who refused to accept that Voldermort was dead.

          "Of course," said McGonagall, smiling. A few minutes later Dumbledore had collected his hat and gloves (the scarf now existed as a bunch of roses) and disappeared into thin air. McGonagall waited for a few moments to check he would not reappear and then dashed up to her bedroom. From under her bed she produced a box labelled '_X-mas Decorations_' and with an evil grin, wondered how long it would be before Filch noticed that a large amount of Hogwart's Christmas decorations had simply vanished overnight.  

          #~**~#

          "Minerva, dear. Where are you?" called Dumbledore as he discarded his hat and gloves on the back of an armchair. He then looked suspiciously round the sitting room as though he had reappeared in the wrong house. Certainly, the sitting room he was in now bore no resemblance to the one he had left four hours ago. 

          "Minerva darling! It looks like Santa's Grotto in here!"

          McGonagall appeared in the doorway. "Do you like it?" she asked anxiously as Dumbledore gazed around the room. Every spare inch of wall seemed to be draped with sparkling tinsel- red, gold, silver, green… The mantelpiece above the fire was hung with trails of holly and ivy and massive church candles were lit on every spare surface (a very big fire hazard in a log cabin, no doubt). A tiny bunch of mistletoe hung in the doorway.

          "It's perfect," said Dumbledore earnestly. "Does the entire house-"

          "-look like Santa's Grotto?" finished McGonagall. "Yes. Everywhere that could take Christmas decorations has them. And the door to the kitchen sings traditional Scottish Christmas carols when you open it."

          Dumbledore laughed at this distinctly _Minerva McGonagall _touch. 'She is amazing,' he thought.

          "What are we doing this afternoon?" asked McGonagall.

          "I was hoping that we might go for a walk but we seem to be snowed in. Of course we could go to somewhere else but-"

          "I like it here," said McGonagall. "How do you fancy some good old Muggle television?"  
  


          Dumbledore said he fancied that very much and, at McGonagall's request, went to get some firewhisky to drink as they watched. He then spent a very pleasant hour watching McGonagall trying to work the television remote control. 

          Both of them were dismayed to find that absolutely nothing was on the TV (unless one is a fan of tired comedy repeats, the News and a nature programme featuring a close encounter with mating lions). 

"I'll go to a video shop and get a video," suggested Dumbledore. It must be noted that it is an extremely difficult task for any wizard to negotiate their way around a video rental store, choose the correct sort of film and, on top of all these challenges, pay in Muggle money. And so Dumbledore did not return from this expedition, which took him to London for the second time that day, until four O'clock. In his hand he clutched a single video: _Shrek_.

"Would you like a sandwich, with your firewhisky?" asked McGonagall.

"Very much," said Dumbledore. "But I'll make the sandwiches- you work the video player."

Needless to say, it was another two hours and a trip to Hogwarts to borrow a battered copy of '_Easy Electronics For Baffled Wizards_', before _Shrek_ had started playing. 

#~**~# 

"I liked the Donkey!"

McGonagall shook her head emphatically. "No, the Princess was the best. She didn't half kick some ass!"

The two wizards were curled up together on the sofa; an extremely large and notably empty bottle of firewhisky was laid on the floor and the end credits of _Shrek_ were playing on the television.

Unconsciously, McGonagall started singing the theme music to _Shrek. _Dumbledore forced himself to get up and staggered over to the kitchen, where he proceeded to boil the kettle for tea before remembering that his wand was no longer broken and he could brew tea the magical way. 

"_Then I saw your face,_

_Yeah, I'm a believer._

_Not a trace_

_Of doubt in my mind-" _Dumbledore found himself singing the theme music as well. 

"Would you like tea, Minerva-love?" shouted Dumbledore, who was feeling the slightest bit drunk.

"I'd love tea, Albus-sweetheart!" replied McGonagall, who was also feeling the slightest bit drunk.

Dumbledore staggered back out of the kitchen with two cups of tea levitated in front of him. In the doorway to the sitting room he met McGonagall who was coming to drink her tea in the kitchen. Both of them stopped in the doorway, glanced upwards at the Mistletoe and then swallowed nervously.

'This is it,' thought McGonagall. 

'Kiss her before it's too late,' thought Dumbledore. Then slowly and hesitantly, he lifted McGonagall's chin, leaned slowly down and touched their lips together in a gentle, fleeting kiss. Moving away, the two friends stared at each other with silly looks of love plastered across their grinning faces. 

Sadly, the moment was spoiled when Dumbledore realised that he was very close to being sick and sprinted up the stairs to the only bathroom. On his way he knocked the two levitating cups of tea flying and managed to scold McGonagall, who quickly placed a cooling charm on the arm that had been hit by flying tea.

#~**~#

When Dumbledore finally left the bathroom thirty minutes later, he felt light-headed as one always does after being repeatedly sick. He leapt down the stairs four at a time and dashed into the sitting room. There he found Minerva McGonagall sprawled across the sofa, fast asleep and snoring gently. Deciding that he felt quite well again, Dumbledore picked McGonagall up and carried her carefully upstairs to her room. Then he laid her on her bed and covered her in a spare blanket. "Night darling," he whispered as he turned out the light.


	3. who lived happily ever after

Big thanks to BrittanyPotter, PrincessWitch, Laura Kay, Minnie, petriebird18, Sanguine Quill, Child-of-the-Dawn, Demus, Mistress of the Manuscript, Witch Whoopie and Jestana.

Quick Author's note: Christmas Eve is indeed on the 24th but McGonagall mentioned 'Christmas Eve-Eve' in chapter 2, thus meaning the eve of Christmas Eve, or the 24th. Sorry if that was a bit… weird.

Warnings: Fluff. Out-of-character characters. Christmas carols.

#~**~#

Dumbledore remembered nothing about the kiss.

 McGonagall remembered nothing about the kiss. 

It was one of those 'life's a bitch' problems, where something great has finally happened and then it seems destined not to have changed anything after all. Damn!  

#~**~#

_"I saw three ships come sailing in,_

_On Christmas day, on Christmas day._

_I saw three ships come sailing in,_

_On Christmas day in the morning," _sang McGonagall in her peculiarly high-pitched nasal voice. 

As she sang, McGonagall levitated a pan of Scotch Porridge Oats from the cooker to the table, where she poured the steaming contents into a bowl. Then she added a few drops of firewhisky to improve the flavour.  

          "What did I drink last night?" asked Dumbledore as he entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table. 

          "Happy Christmas Eve, Albus. You drank 300mls of finest Scotch firewhisky," said McGonagall smiling.

          "'Finest' meaning strongest?"

          "No! It's only 45% alcohol."  
  


          "Only _45%_!" cried Dumbledore, looking mortified. "I should be dead after drinking that much. Why aren't I dead?"  
  


          McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore impassively. "Maybe you've got a high alcohol tolerance," she suggested.

          "The most dangerous drink I ever have is hot chocolate! How would I have developed a high alcohol tolerance?"

          McGonagall shrugged and went back to her whisky-flavoured porridge.

          "I feel sick," said Dumbledore flatly.

          "Oh?" said McGonagall, who had drunk just as much the previous night and felt perfectly fine.

          "And I can still smell the damned stuff!" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

          "That would be the whisky in my porridge."

          Dumbledore gazed at McGonagall a moment longer before running to the bathroom and vomiting loudly. "Men just cannot take their drink," said McGonagall cheerfully as she finished her porridge and started singing again.

          _"God rest ye merry Gentlemen,_

_          Let nothing ye dismay._

_          Remember Christ our saviour_

_          Was born on Christmas day-"_

_          #~**~#_

_          "-To save us all from Satan's power_

_          When he has gone astray!_

_          Good tidings of comfort and joy-"_

          McGonagall paused in her singing to focus on the tricky task of levitating thirteen shopping bags through the kitchen doorway. It was ten O'clock and she had spent the last two hours shopping.

          Dumbledore came through from the living room. "What have you bought?" 

          "Just enough for a spot of Christmas dinner!" exclaimed McGonagall happily.

          "Seriously, what have you bought?"  
  


          "As I said, not that much: melon, smoked salmon, cream cheese, turkey, chipolata sausages, bacon, cranberry sauce, carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts, three types of potatoes, cheese selection, Christmas pudding, brandy for making brandy sauce, firewhisky for fun, after-dinner mints, chocolate-"

          "I get the picture," interrupted Dumbledore as his stomach began to turn at the thought of so much food (and yet more of that dratted firewhisky!).

          "You don't look to well, Albus. Would a drop of whisky help?" asked McGonagall mischievously, causing Dumbledore to clutch his stomach and run for the bathroom at the very thought. 

He was altogether too busy being ill to pay any attention to McGonagall's cheerful singing as she bust into yet another rendition of a happy, light-hearted Christmas carol:

          "_This little babe,_

_          But few days old,_

_          Has come to rifle Satan's fold!_

_          All Hell doth at,_

_          His presence quake-"_

#~**~#

          Christmas day arrived just as it did at Hogwarts- with lots and lots of snow. However, McGonagall could not see the snow when she got up as it was still pitch dark. McGonagall turned on the oven and tool the turkey out of the fridge.

          "What on earth are you doing?" growled Dumbledore from the kitchen doorway. He had the look of a man who has just woken up from a good dream and wishes to kill the one who woke them. 

          "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!" cried McGonagall, dashing across the room and kissing Dumbledore's cheek. 

          All was forgiven immediately. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Now what is it you're doing up at 3AM exactly?"

          "Putting the turkey in the oven," answered McGonagall innocently.

          "Does the turkey really need _eleven hours_ cooking time?" 

          McGonagall nodded and gestured across the room to where the turkey lay next to the sink. It was a very big turkey. In fact, it was the biggest turkey Dumbledore had ever seen. "Are you going back to bed?" asked McGonagall as Dumbledore 'admired' the turkey. 

          "No, I don't think so," said Dumbledore offhandedly, his eyes transfixed by the giant fowl.

          "Then why don't you put the turkey in the oven and I'll rustle up a nice bacon sarnie to keep us going until breakfast," said McGonagall happily as she removed some bacon from the fridge. She then began to sing-

          "_Jingle bells! Jingle bells!_

_          Jingle all the way!_

_          Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh! _

_          Hey!"_

_          "_Minerva darling," said Dumbledore interrupting her song. "We have a problem."

          "Yes?"

          "The turkey won't fit in the oven."

          "Uh-Oh."  
  


          #~**~#

          "It is a truly wonderful dressing gown," said Dumbledore quietly, admiring the blue dressing gown that McGonagall had bought him. "Far more manly than pink…"

          "It's not as great as the 'Transfigure Your Own Flying Kitten Kit' you gave me," said McGonagall earnestly, her eyes sparkling with delight.

          "You have beautiful eyes," murmured Dumbledore romantically as he wondered what excuse he could use to get McGonagall underneath the mistletoe.

          McGonagall laughed nervously then, with a kind of 'do or die' resolution she leaned forward and pressed her lips against Dumbledore's.

          "Ack!" he squeaked, taken totally unprepared. Then he deepened the kiss to show McGonagall that he wanted this and also, well, because he liked kissing.

          #~**~# 

 McGonagall and Dumbledore sat at the kitchen table eating carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts and three types of potato for Christmas dinner. Their eyes kept meeting across the table and then, with a quick blush and an embarrassed giggle they would look away. Some people might have thought it cute. Others might have found it bloody annoying.  

          As she munched on her parsnips, McGonagall kept envisaging different ways for Dumbledore to propose. On a moonlit stroll along a deserted beach… At a romantic dinner… On a boat ride across Loch Ness…

As he munched on his carrots, Dumbledore wondered exactly how to present McGonagall with her real present- the diamond engagement ring in his pocket.

It was already dark when the two stopped eating and moved into the living room (with a quick snog under the mistletoe on the way).

"Would you like some Christmas pudding," asked McGonagall.

"I'd like your hand in marriage!" blurted out Dumbledore before he could stop himself.

McGonagall gave a squeal of delight and snatched the engagement ring off Dumbledore as he hastily removed it from his pocket. "Of course I'll marry you! I've never wanted anything more! Mrs Dumbledore at last!"

"I love you," said Dumbledore sincerely as his new fiancée started to leap joyfully around the living room, occasionally stopping to bestow kisses on her lover or to observe how that was the most perfect proposal in the whole history of marriage proposals.

And as Dumbledore smiled, McGonagall leaped, the Christmas pudding in the oven began to burn and the turkey-that-wouldn't-fit-in-the-oven roasted on a spit over the open fire, thousands of wizards throughout the world celebrated a truly spellbinding Christmas. 

**Fini**

_Review button is located to the bottom left of the screen… Should I change the title to 'Spellbinding'?_ _Or any other [more relevant] suggestions?    _


End file.
